


Souvenir

by guineapiggie



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: (okay yeah but why is this the first tag that is suggested?), Bisexual Richie Tozier, Fix-It of Sorts, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Other, Post-Canon, Richie remembers something or maybe he doesn't, also a spoonful of internalised homophobia because this wasn't sad enough already, nah i didn't fix anything really but this feels better, rated for language it's not richie if it doesn't contain five f-bombs right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 06:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20020345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineapiggie/pseuds/guineapiggie
Summary: The ache reached past his throat now, and left it tight. It climbed up, made his eyes sting, very faintly, and burned away the mist in his head, a lone small figure slowly coming into view like a developing photograph in the red light.He remembered his ocean-grey eyes now, clear as day, and fuck,God- God, he had loved that kid so much, he could feel his long-forgotten selfvibratingwith it like a damn tuning fork, across the mist and all those years. Fuck, what a cruel world would let you forget a thing like that, he thought, almost angry, and then -





	Souvenir

**Author's Note:**

> can't do Richie's voices for shit, as it turns out. Pretend they're there, I tried and it's late and this isn't my first language so. Sorry about that.

Richie Tozier’s eyes flickered away from the screen and he found himself quite unable to return his attention to whatever the hell they were watching, one of those “after the best-selling novel by William Something-or-other”s. There was something tugging, very gently, at the corners of his mind.

He wasn’t quite sure where it had come from, or what had triggered it. He leaned against Jen’s shoulder with a sigh and waited for the feeling to pass. It usually did.

Well, once or twice it hadn’t, but not in a long while.

About a year ago, the feeling had been so nagging, so persistent, that he had walked into a pharmacy and bought a plastic aspirator. The pharmacist had given him a weird look when Richie had told him he didn’t actually have a prescription, and he didn’t need the thing filled, either. He’d finally managed to convince the guy that he needed the aspirator for a show, “can’t get nothing else to make that noise, you know, and this bit really needs that exact sound”. And the entire time, he had had absolutely no idea why he was doing it.

And now that he thought about it, he’d pretty much forgotten about the whole thing, too.

Until the tugging had started up again just now, that was. And maybe… maybe it wasn’t really a _tug, _either. He had got the direction right, though. There was something pulling away, something that he hadn’t been aware of, like a thick fog over his past, at least some of it. And the first thing that emerged was that aspirator.

He suddenly remembered where it was, too, he had put it in that empty bottom drawer of the nightstand. He had also, for some reason, felt the need to rest it on a folded tissue. It had looked… cold, in that empty drawer. The sight had clenched his throat shut for some reason.

The feeling wouldn’t let up. With a passing glance at Jen, he got to his feet like a sleepwalker.

“Richie? What’s wrong?”

“Nahthin’, luv,” he said in a cheery sing-song, barely keeping track of which voice he was doing, not turning around. “Just pa’ched, tha’s awl.”

She rolled her eyes and smiled faintly, and for just a moment, he expected her to say something, but she just returned her eyes to the screen and said: “You bring me something, too?”

“Sure, yeah,” he muttered, fingers tapping against the doorframe, then he walked past the kitchen into the bedroom and pulled open the bottom drawer.

There it was indeed. Funny how he could have forgotten, really. Richie sat down on the edge of the mattress and turned the thing in his hands.

The mist pulled back a little further, and something seeped out, dripped into his chest and stayed there, swelling slowly. Some faint ache, not _pain, _really – it was too warm, too familiar for that.

He must have sat there for a lot longer than he’d realised, because at some point, Jen walked in and sat down next to him.

“I didn’t know you had asthma.”

He shook his head. “I don’t. ‘s… a keepsake,” he replied, unsure why but suddenly sure it was true. The thing had reminded him of something he’d forgotten…

“_Someone,_” he added and nodded. _Yes. _The mist had retreated a few feet further, and he was sure of this now, too.

“Yeah?” She was quiet for a moment, then asked: “Old flame?”

He was dimly aware that was supposed to be a bad joke, but that didn’t make it any less true. “First one, anyway,” he replied slowly, and wasn’t sure of that until he said it. The words made swirls in the fog.

“What was her name?”

“His,” he corrected, reflexively, then bit his lip. _Beep beep, fuckwit. Why would you tell her that? You met this girl two weeks ago. Now she’ll stare at you. She’ll say it’s all the same to her, but she will stare and you know it._

She blinked, once, twice, and her smile wobbled.

Richie wondered if she would look away. Some did, and sometimes that was worse than the staring. Today, he didn’t really care. The ache in his chest was still there, expanding slowly, radiating like heat, and he felt he was getting close to something this time, like the mist was clearing –

His fingers closed around the plastic inhaler that had grown warm in his hand. It felt familiar; it would be warm, wouldn’t it, warm from being in a jeans pocket all day long –

The ache reached past his throat now, and left it tight, _might need to get that thing filled with something after all (tapwaterandcampherbatteryacidwhoknows)_. It climbed up, made his eyes sting, very faintly, and burned away the mist in his head, a lone small figure slowly coming into view like a developing photograph in the red light.

He remembered his ocean-grey eyes, clear as day, and fuck, _God - _God, he had loved that kid so much, he could feel his long-forgotten self _vibrating_ with it like a damn tuning fork, across the mist and all those years. _Fuck_, what a cruel world would let you forget a thing like that, he thought, almost angry, and then -

Then -

Richie could feel it all fade already. In a minute, the spook would be over, and all forgotten in five, like magic, _abracadabra, gather round, gather round, the great Richard will make this bunny disappear children just you watch._

“Well, what was _his _name, then?”

He glanced up at her briefly, found she was still looking at him. _Huh. _Maybe it really _was _all the same to her this time.

Richie gripped the inhaler, almost sad for the impending loss of this faint, familiar hurt, and tried for a smile. _Never could fake those for shit, trashmouth, thank God you’re on the radio._

“You know, I don’t think I remember,” he said, and for just a moment longer, that was a lie, and then it wasn’t.

The mist rolled back over his past, and a part of him knew he should be glad for it. But even though he couldn’t make out anything, he knew those memories were… well, he couldn’t really find the word for it. _I’m not the writer, _he thought suddenly, and somehow, that was funny.

For lack of a better word, he could feel _warmth _beneath the fog, the warmth that came with that ache he’d have forgotten in a few minutes. There was warmth, because Richie had loved them, and loved him, and they had loved Richie, too, and he didn’t know who they were or had been and in a few minutes he wouldn’t remember any of this and he thought maybe some of them were long gone but that didn’t change a thing; he had loved them and they had loved him and they loved each other still.

He smiled, a real smile, put the aspirator back into its place, closed the drawer and said:

“Screw that movie. Let’s get really fucking drunk.”

* * *

(Sometimes, when he saw a couple of birds splashing in a bird bath in the park, he got a feeling like a ray of sunlight had brushed his skin. Of course, that wasn’t all that remarkable in California.)


End file.
